


A bit less than a four-alarm fire (in a derelict apartment)

by JulieVerne



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieVerne/pseuds/JulieVerne
Summary: Shaw's apartment goes up in flames.





	1. Burn Your Life Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's apartment mysteriously catches fire and she needs temporary accommodation.

It had started out the most normal day in the world. Shaw’s address had been leaked to some operatives and trashed in the firefight that ensued, then by a literal fire. In the subway Shaw was fending off offers for somewhere to stay. She had enough money for a hotel; hell, she’d make Finch pay for it if she had to. But Root just kept... offering.

\----

Root had been flirting with Shaw for so long that she almost didn't notice when Shaw finally accepted her offer.

“I'm sorry, what?” Root asked.

“You asked if I wanted to come home with you. I said yes.” Shaw shrugged defensively, refusing to make eye contact with Root or any of other the other stunned occupants of the subway.

“But why now? After all this time…” Root trailed off, dumbfounded.

“My place is trashed and what can I say? You wore me down.”

“Oh. You just want somewhere to stay.” Root deflated, knowing it had been too good to be true.

“If I wanted somewhere to stay, I'd stay with Finch and Bear.” Shaw said meaningfully. Finch opened his mouth, no doubt to insist that it would be inappropriate when John caught his eye, shook his head. This wasn’t their business and Shaw wasn’t going to crash Finch’s cell in back - John had been back there, and it was sterile, cold.

Root smiled, led the way.

\----

Shaw walked into Root's apartment like she owned it, pressed Root against the door, hands soft on her ribs, eyes soft, mouth close to Root's. Then a car outside backfired, and  
Shaw pulled away, flopped on the couch, and Root had a moment to catch her breath, lock the door behind her.

“What's for dinner?” Shaw asked, flicking through the channels, and the mood had changed so suddenly that now Root like she was babysitting.

“There's food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want,” Root said, as she shed her jacket, shrugged off her shirt, pulled on a hoodie instead. “Or we could always… eat out…” Root finished, turning to face Shaw with a raised eyebrow. Shaw turned away suddenly, caught watching. She hadn’t been expecting Root to change in front of her, but she hadn’t objected to the view either. Shaw looked around the studio apartment, noted the lack of other rooms. She opened her mouth to ask another obvious question, only to be preemptively answered by Root.

“It's a one bedroom apartment. Meaning one bed. We can always... bunk up…” Root said suggestively. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Floor's fine,” Shaw said sharply. Wondering why she had taken Root up on her offer. She ran her hand through her hair. When her hand caught her ponytail she untied it, shook it out. When she looked up again Root was watching her in awe, one hand wrapped around the doorframe, head resting on her hand. Shaw rolled her eyes again. Wondering why she'd pushed Root against the door, wondering why she'd been so… gentle about it.

“There's a couch. No need to be so chivalrous.”

“Got anything for me to sleep in?” Shaw asked, heading for the fridge. Nothing on the tv, not that it had ever interested her much anyway.

In the fridge was a mostly empty jar of Nutella and a half empty pack of Twizzlers.

“Jesus, what do you eat?” Shaw asked, with due concern.

“Tonight? Pizza? Then… we'll see.” Root smiled coyly, aware of her overtures, picked up her phone. “One with the lot?”

“Make it two.” Shaw said, stomach already growling. “One with pepperchinis.” She grabbed the food in the fridge, pulled out a Twizzler as she opened the Nutella jar. She dug the Twizzler into the Nutella, went back to the couch, jaw working. Root shook her head.

“As you wish,” Root said as she made the call.

\----

When Root hung up and walked back to the sofa Shaw was in her sports bra, sniffing her shirt. There were two Twizzlers left; Shaw offered Root one. Root refrained from dabbing it in the proffered nearly empty jar, chewed on it thoughtfully as she eyed Shaw. Eyed Shaw’s newly exposed skin. Shaw looked up eventually, rolled her eyes again at Root’s obvious interest in her torso.

“I've been fighting all day. Can I take a shower, borrow a towel and some pants? Shirt, too. John said he'd swing by my old place, see if anything's salvageable but I think I’ll need to go shopping. Again.” Shaw didn't look too annoyed, despite the inconvenience, despite the proximity to someone she spent most of her time batting away from her - quite gently, by Shaw's standards.

“Of course. Food in half an hour.” Shaw got up and Root sat on the couch by herself, listening to the bathroom door close, the taps turn on, a distant shuffle of clothing. Tried not to think of Shaw undressing so close to her, a flimsy door the only thing between them. Root got up, sifted through a drawer. She had a lot of costumes, bought on the fly as needed, but not a lot of clothes. She dug through, found a singlet she liked to sleep in, a pair of shorts - her pants would be too long, and these shorts would… well, they'd look good on Shaw, Root acknowledged, aware of her ulterior motive. She placed them on the bed, the side closest to the door to the bathroom, considered walking in to place them on the sink but decided against it. It was enough that Shaw had come here willingly, for now. It was enough that Shaw had looked at her like that at the door, setting every sense ablaze. She could sense Shaw’s uncertainty, tense like a coiled spring, ready to bolt… but staying, for some reason. Like she was playing chicken, trying to tough it out. Shaw came out wrapped in a towel and cloaked in steam, took the clothes back in the bathroom with her. She seemed embarrassed, shy, and it just made Root ache more.

A knock on the door took her attention and she went to open it. Pizzas, and a cake from the place next to the pizza shop. A six pack of beer too. Root tipped well; she always did. That's why she always got what she asked for. Root put the pizzas on the table in front of the tv, suddenly nervous. She hadn't thought Shaw would take her up on her offer, hadn't thought that Shaw... perhaps she had been flirting, earlier, but she wasn't now. And Root's hopes had been dashed. Not that she'd thought anything would happen but Shaw was reserved again, almost hostile again. 

Shaw was... 

Out of the bathroom now, singlet tight on her torso. Shorts longer on Shaw than they were on Root, but still short. Shaw threw herself down on the couch next to Root, smelling fresh, smelling like Root's shampoo, Root’s deodorant. Root looked away, tried to ignore all that tantalising exposed flesh. Shaw opened a box, folded two slices over and started digging in, seemingly not noticing where her bare knee brushed Root's jeanclad knee. 

“I think. Yes. A shower. Good idea.” Root said abstractly.

“But the pizza’s hot,” Shaw said through a mouthful of cheese. Root took a slice, pretended to watch the tv, hyperaware of Shaw's knee, aware of the fact that there was room on the couch on the other side of Shaw. That Shaw had chosen to sit this close to her.

“You're quiet, for once,” Shaw said finally.

“I… I'm going to shower,” Root said. She put down her half eaten slice. Picked out something to sleep in, took it in with her. She knew she was making this awkward but then, so was Shaw.

\----

Shaw had got most of the way through one of the pizzas before she started wondering about Root. She seemed withdrawn. She was probably confused; Shaw had come in with guns blazing and now she was being… domestic. Shaw still wasn't sure why she'd accepted; she had nothing to offer. Nothing a human woman would want, would put up with. Sure, they'd be hot together, but Root would want commitment or affection or both and they'd have to keep working together. Being with Root, even for a night, would be more trouble than it was worth.

But when Root came out of the shower, boxer shorts and a worn tee with a faded slogan to resume her place next to Shaw on the couch, Shaw had difficulty remembering all the reasons she shouldn't want to run her hand over her colleague's muscular thigh that was currently pressed against her own. Shaw put down her pizza, swallowed thickly, then reached for another beer. It was going to be a long night.

Root finished her slice, picked up another. Looked over to where Shaw was leaned back against the couch, staring at her.

“What?” Root asked, chewing quickly.

“I turned on the game… was there anything you wanted to… it is your place...” Shaw sipped again at her beer, thanking her quick reflexes for the easy out for her staring.

Root glanced at the tv with disinterest.

“I don’t mind,” Root said quickly, as she took another bite. This was getting awkward. “I have some stuff to work on, some research after dinner.”

“Oh,” Shaw said. “Oh,” she said again, and picked up her fourth slice (or seventh and eighth slices, depending on how Root might have counted).

“I would get started now but… greasy keyboards aren’t my thing.” Root looked longingly over to a laptop bag on the table. Then she looked back over to where Shaw’s knee hadn’t budged when Root’s had bumped against it when she sat back down in her shorts, Shaw’s bare skin warm. She savoured it through another two slices of pizza, then shoved the box over to Shaw.

“Cake in the fridge when you’re finished,” Root said as she stood, washed her hands in the kitchen, wiped them carefully before pulling out her laptop and sitting at the table beside the couch. 

Shaw considered asking Root to work from the couch next to her, then dismissed the thought. It was too needy - she’d already shown her hand by accepting Root’s offer for shelter for the night. She’d already gone too far, pressing her against the door like that - Shaw rubbed her hands together, remembering the look of hungry anticipation on Root’s face, remembering the way Root’s ribs had felt pressed against her palms. Instead she finished up the pizza, threw the boxes out. Put her empty beer bottles in the recycling bin Root had pointed wordlessly to, not looking up from her screen. Root had put her hair in a ponytail, put her glasses on and damn if the nerdy thing wasn’t doing it for Shaw. 

Shaw wandered over to the fridge, pulled out the cake. Cut two slices, wiped her tactical blade clean and brought a plate over to Root, who again didn’t look up, just spooned cake into her mouth while typing one-handed. 

Shaw took her slice to the couch, disgruntled. Root had spent all this time making all those suggestive comments only to leave her out in the cold for the sake of her beloved machine.

Not that Shaw wanted Root all over her… it just might have been nice to have an evening, a meal, a conversation. Instead of this awkward silence. 

\----

Root eventually sighed, stretched and stood up.

“Oh, thanks for the cake,” Root said as she noticed the empty plate beside her. She took off her glasses, put them on the keyboard of the laptop. “I didn’t realise it was so late. Good game?”

Shaw hadn’t paid enough attention to the game, bemused by Root’s proximity, so she nodded, which was enough of an answer to Root, who was rinsing the plates and spoons in the sink.

“So. Where are you going to sleep. The offer to share the bed - just to sleep - still stands,” Root said seriously.

“It's not... It's not a good idea to sleep next to a marine, Root,” Shaw said truthfully. She slept like a caged animal - all pent up energy ready to uncoil like a spring.

“Don't deny me for my sake. You know I like that sort of thing.” Root said, teasingly.

“No one likes a fist in the face when they're asleep. Trust me.” Shaw looked up, met Root’s eyes, stared at her earnestly.

“Shaw…” Root said, pouting, and Shaw turned away.

“Couch is fine,” Shaw reiterated. Root flounced away to the light, turned it off and tucked herself into bed, dim light of the tv illuminating the room.

“Goodnight sweetie,” Root called, and received a grunt in return.

\----

Root couldn't sleep. Shaw was so close, and yet so far. She got up, padded over to the couch to watch Shaw sleep, squatted next to her. It might be her only chance to see her defenses down like this.

Shaw's face was open and relaxed in sleep, her lips open and slack. She'd thrown off the blanket Root had tucked over her an hour ago, and Root brought it up over her shoulders again. She brushed some hair out of Shaw's face, not surprised when Shaw's hand shot out and caught her wrist. She heard the sound of a gun she couldn’t see cocking, then heard another click as Shaw opened her eyes.

“Trained. Killer”. Shaw said through gritted teeth as she released Root’s hand.

“You looked cold,” Root said sweetly. 

“I'm fine,” Shaw said slowly, shifting her hips. “Slept on more comfortable floors though.”

“You're welcome to join me,” Root said, and Shaw shot her a look. “To sleep. Honestly. If you're not comfortable here it makes me feel like a bad hostess.”

“Couch is fine,” Shaw said moving again, flinching at a crack from her spine.

“I wish you'd... “

“Sleep with you?” Shaw spat out. “I know. Root. Drop it.”

“No. I wish you'd trust me”. Root seemed sad, deflated. Root rested her chin on her hand, elbow resting on her knee. 

“I was asleep. Don't do that around someone I don't trust,” Shaw said gruffly. 

“Sleep in the bed. A cranky, sleep deprived agent is no good to Finch or Reese. I'll take the couch. Go.”

“It's your bed,” Shaw pointed out.

“Paid for with the machine’s money,” Root countered. 

“Like I said. I was asleep. Slept worse places. Now let me get back to sleep,” Shaw gritted out through her teeth. Root's hand reached out, brushed the hair out of Shaw's face again, rested her hand on Shaw's cheek. Shaw relented a little. “You're too tall for the couch.” Shaw said patiently. “Go to bed.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Root said, and Shaw tried to ignore the way that made her feel. Root landed a quick peck on Shaw’s cheek and was back in bed before Shaw could object.

\----

Shaw knew Root was some sort of genius, but she could read her like a book.

And a defeated Root was worse than a flirty one, Shaw thought, hearing Root toss and turn and sigh on the bed behind her. 

\---

Shaw stood by the bed two hours later. Root rolled over onto an elbow to face her, rested her cheek on her palm.

“Tell anyone, I shoot you,” Shaw said as she lifted the cover. Root just smiled, rolled away from Shaw who held herself stiffly on her back. The bed was unfairly more comfortable than the couch, and warm from Root's body heat. 

When Shaw heard the rhythm of Root's breathing change, knew she'd fallen asleep, she propped herself on an elbow to look at her. Really look, noticing again the features of her face, how attractive she was.

“You're infuriating,” she said matter of factly. Wondering why she'd accepted the offer of accomodation. Perhaps she'd wanted to see how Root would react if she didn't fight her advances. Perhaps she was tired and wanted somewhere safe to stay. Perhaps she was tired of hotel rooms better furnished that her own empty place. Shaw watched Root a few more moments, then rolled over away from her and let herself run the sleep sequence that she'd learned in training. Sleep was important; too important to be interrupted by uncomfortable surfaces and loud noises. That's what she'd learned. Yet she’d allowed Root’s pouting to get to her.

Halfway through she felt the mattress shift, and an arm slip over her torso. She tensed, but Root's breathing suggested she was still asleep. And since Root was asleep and Shaw was certain she'd wake first, no one would ever know about this.

The way she could feel Root's breasts pressed against her back, her breath filtering through her hair, the bare legs mixed with hers... Shaw knew she should disengage, but she couldn't. Root was finally asleep, finally not bugging her. At least not intentionally. She didn't need to run the rest of the sequence. The arm wrapped around her was comforting enough.

\----

Shaw fitted so nicely in Root's arms. She was just short enough that her head tucked neatly under Root's chin, just soft enough to be comfortable pressed against her. There's muscle; a lot of it, and bones that Root wanted to trace but didn't just yet. But there was a softness to Shaw when she was asleep. Something soft, and almost sweet about her.

Shaw moved, slid further onto Root, hummed contentedly. Her mouth pressed against Root's collarbone for a moment and Root's breath shook on the inhale, fingers tracing Shaw's shoulder bones between her singlet sleeves. Following the knobs of her spine, lingering over scars she couldn't see. Shaw sighed in her sleep, burrowed closer into Root. She seemed... comfortable. And so was Root. Shaw's hand rested curled on Root's ribcage, and once more Shaw shifted, her hand curling around Root's waist. There was a little grunt from Shaw, she sounded content. Seemed peaceful.

Root had been obvious about her intentions with Shaw, hadn't been crushed at the constant rejections. She'd thought she'd wanted Shaw sexually, thought she wanted her body... And here it was, and perhaps this is what she wanted. Perhaps this is what she was after, having Shaw let her be physically close. To have Shaw trust her. But without the context of a sexual relationship, this kind of friendship, this kind of closeness was foreign.

\----

Shaw woke once, noted that Root's body was her pillow. Didn't move her head from Root's shoulder, noted the fingertips tracing an old wound on her shoulder. 

This was... nice. Shaw didn’t get happy. Instead she was... pleased by this. When she agreed to come home with Root she thought the other woman would continue with her constant pursuit of Shaw, but she'd been restrained, been well behaved.

This was... not the wild night she'd been hoping for, but somehow it wasn't a disappointment. She kept still, feigning sleep until it overcame her again. Staying awake as long as possible, trying to identify what she was feeling. If Root had made an advance, a physical move, Shaw would have met her with her own moves. But Root had been sweet but withholding all evening,and was certainly not pressing any boundaries considering Shaw was draped over her. Shaw had expected… something else. She'd expected her signals to be translated correctly, to have Root significantly less clad in her arms.

\----

Shaw woke up early, but not early enough to disentangle herself before Root woke up.

She found herself still sprawled on her front over Root, who was still lying on her back, pinned under Shaw. A hand was gently running over her shoulder blade. Shaw sprang away as if burned.

“Never figured you for a cuddler,” Root's voice said, almost teasing. “I've got a mission, but I couldn't bear to wake you. You seemed so... peaceful for once. Like a sleeping bear cub. Cute but potentially deadly.”

“Tell anyone…”

“You'll shoot me. I know the drill, sweetie.” Root stretched, got out of bed, started dressing like Shaw wasn't there, like Shaw wasn't watching her hungrily. “I assume you'll have a new place today, but you're welcome here or wherever I'm staying if you run into trouble.”

Shaw had been expecting more teasing, but Root was matter of fact and... half naked. Shaw blushed, looked away, got out of bed. She only had yesterday's dirty clothes to wear, but she had some money so first thing was new clothes. A black dress for work. Then groceries. Steak, too maybe, for tomorrow night's dinner. Treat Root.

Then she remembered she wasn't planning on staying here again, and it made her... wistful. She looked over at Root, pulling her shirt on over that lacy contraption. She looked away, rolled out of bed, pulled her dirty clothes on, brushing at a burnt sleeve. When she patted down her pants there was a lump in the pocket.

“Lock up when you leave,” Root called from the doorway, in a pair of scrubs for some reason. The door closed, and Shaw dug in the pocket. The lump was a key, and when she left, she tried it on the apartment lock. It fit, and Shaw smiled as she walked down to the nearest American Eagle. Time to start buying dresses in bulk.


	2. With the Bureau Chiefs and the Shrugging Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another night, another meal.  
> The way to Shaw's heart is through her stomach, after all.

Root shrugged off a hazmat suit as she answered a call from Shaw. Sat down on a stairwell, elbows on knees, waiting as Shaw took an inordinate amount of time to greet her.

“Hey.” Shaw said finally, sounding like she’d come to a decision. “Can I….stay over again? Just for tonight. Finch said he'll have sorted a new place for me by tomorrow, but for tonight…” Shaw sounded hesitant, and Root couldn’t help but tease her a little.

“Of course. You know people are going to start to talk, right.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Shaw said abruptly. “I'll try to get to yours at 6. Dinner’s on me.” Shaw cut the connection as abruptly as she had started it.

Root rested her face on her hand. 

“I'm glad you approve,” she said out loud. “But I still need groceries.” With that Root got to her feet, pulled a leather apron from the trash can she’d stuffed the hazmat suit into and headed to the foundry.

\---

Shaw showed up with a bag of takeaway and a duffel; half full of weapons, by the clinks from it. Despite the key, she still knocked.  
Root opened the door, stepped aside. Shaw hesitated in the doorway.

“I do appreciate it. You offering and letting me stay. Most people don't like sociopaths knowing where they live.” Shaw had remembered her manners.

“It's just a medical condition. You're no danger to me, and if you were I can't think of any way I'd rather go out than in battle with you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Shaw snarked, stepping past Root. “Here.”

Root took the bags from Shaw, watched her walk into to the apartment. Dropped the duffle on the couch, took the takeaway to the table where Shaw was watching her expectantly. She put the bags on the table, went into the kitchen for cutlery. When she came back, Shaw was still watching her expectantly, and Root realised that Shaw was waiting for her before she ate. Root had seen Shaw eat before; knew that she must be hungry and that Shaw rarely reserved her manners for the table. But here she was, waiting for Root.   
Root took her time coming back to the table, went back into the kitchen for some wine, some glasses, some plates, feeling Shaw’s eyes on her back, but when she turned Shaw was always looking away, eyes on the bookshelf, a book she’d retrieved from her duffle and once, on the bed. Eventually Root was satisfied with the setup and sat down next to Shaw, hearing Shaw’s stomach rumble in complaint. But still, no words from Shaw. Shaw just openly watched the bag and Root, switching between them.

Then it struck Root, that Shaw was waiting for Root to… feed her? Serve her dinner? Weird, but doable. Root dug into the bags, pulled out the containers.

Steak, with thickcut wedges and two salads. Bottle of tabasco, which Root placed next to Shaw’s plate.

Shaw dug in straight away, eating straight out of the container, sprinkling tabasco on the food intermittently, all manners forgotten as she sat with a knee up at the dining table, book forgotten next to her empty plate. Root put hers on a plate, watched as Shaw took bites off the steak on her fork. Root cut hers into pieces, took a bite.

“Oh gosh,” Root said unexpectedly, and Shaw looked up, shot her a saucy grin.

“Good, right?” Shaw asked cockily.

“Amazing.”

Shaw smiled again, took a sip of wine, turned back to her book.

\---

Shaw slipped off into the shower after dinner, came back in a tight tank tap and short shorts; not Root's this time, and Root was pleased, both by the view and that she'd chosen well the night before. Shaw picked up her book again; Root had glanced at it, something about advanced cryptography for tactical operations. She could follow most of it, but it was boring, too analogue. Although it did get her wanting to advance on the hash she'd been concocting - Diffie-Helman was getting too mainstream to be a safe option any more. 

“I got groceries,” Root said finally. “I was going to make dinner. But I can make breakfast instead.” 

Shaw looked up. 

“If you'd like to,” Shaw said non committedly.

“And I got ice-cream,” Root followed, opening the freezer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought we might… NetFlix and chill?”

“You got Netflix?” Shaw asked, surprised, trying to avoid the overt comeon. Root disappeared back into the kitchen.

“No,” Root said, walking back into the main room.

Root joined Shaw on the couch, two spoons and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. Root let her bare shoulder brush against Shaw’s then leaned against her when there was no resistance. 

Human contact had always seemed so overrated to her, but now… now she was seeing benefits. Root put the icecream on the table and picked up the remote, cocked her head sideways.

“I don’t have NetFlix, but Finch does,” Root said as she typed a username and password into the screen. “I don’t have any chill either, when it comes to you.” Root sounded matter of fact and Shaw eyed her sideways, but Root just browsed through the shows at random, picking a cartoon eventually. “This’ll ruin his algorithm,” Root said offhandedly. “He’ll be seeing Cartoon Network suggestions for months.”

When Root’s spoon finally came back empty, Root took the tub and spoons to the kitchen.

“I'm making hot chocolate if you want some,” Root called from the kitchen. And Shaw smiled. Yesterday the woman didn't even have milk, today she has hot chocolate. She could bet Root didn't sit at home of an evening, making herself hot chocolate.

“Sure,” she said flippantly. She wasn't a fan of hot chocolate normally, but she liked being fed. She didn't like being fussed over, but she liked having food supplied to her, made by someone else. It made her feel… welcome. Wanted. The way she’d felt when Root had opened the takeaway for her, wishing she’d had the willpower to wait for Root to plate it for her.

Root put a mug on the coffee table in front of Shaw, sat next to her, tucked her legs up beneath herself, tilting herself towards Shaw. Root blew on her own hot chocolate, and Shaw watched Root bring it to her lips. Shaw reached for her own, and when she moved back, Root had moved over just enough that she was resting ever so slightly against Shaw.  
It wasn't... sexual. It was... intimate. Root's knees were protruding over her lap and when Root wobbled Shaw's hand went out to steady her, hold her knees against her thigh. Anyone else, Shaw would have let fall, would have pushed them away. But Root was being kind enough to let her stay, hadn’t made an overt move… and her jeans were warm against Shaw’s bare thighs. Root had been suggestive, but she hadn’t pressed the issue when shot down - hadn’t even been dejected by anything other than Shaw’s refusal to share the bed. She always took it with good humour, and now it was making Shaw wonder if the reason Root never worried about Shaw’s rejections was because she wasn’t serious about her offers. Maybe she just knew it bugged Shaw, and that’s what made her twisted, Machine-loving heart happy. But Shaw suspected that wasn’t right either. Root...worried about Shaw, and Shaw had caught the way Root looked at her; it was the same if she knew Shaw could see her or not. There was attraction there, but Root seemed to be willing to wait, not seeming to care if Shaw ever changed her mind, just always letting her know that the option was on the table.

“That's good,” Shaw said finally, nonchalantly. The smile on Root's face made her feel… good about what she'd said, it made her want to say more nice things to her, to make her happy. To make both of them happy. When she looked down, her thumb was rubbing across Root's knee with a mind of its own.

But Shaw was… what she was, and she knew it wouldn't end well. She was pretty much torturing herself here, with everything she couldn't have. Or rather, everything she could have. Root was so obviously willing, all Shaw would need to do was press her against the couch and she'd melt like the mini marshmallows in her hot chocolate. But Shaw wouldn't be good for Root. She'd say the wrong things, wouldn't show up when Root was expecting her, all the things that books had taught her people didn't like in a partner.

Shaw shook her head. While her thoughts had distracted her, Root had rested her cheek against Shaw's temple, her hand wrapped through Shaw's arm. Shaw's stomach clenched, but she drank her hot chocolate slowly, as if unaffected by the unexpected affection.

They didn't mention the empty bed. Root didn't bring up where Shaw intended to sleep. She just satisfied herself sharing a couch, pressed together, Shaw obviously comfortable with Root snug against her like that.

\---

Shaw turned in first, stood and walked to the bed and lifted the blanket without a word. Root took a shower and turned in not long behind her. When Root slipped under the covers, Shaw turned to face her.

“Want to snuggle?” Root asked suggestively, but Shaw didn't answer. Just rolled Root away from her, pulled herself in behind Root. Threw an arm over her torso.

“Shut up Root.”

“Gladly,” Root said, snuggling back into Shaw. It wasn't exactly what she'd wanted from the situation, but it was more than she'd hoped for. She ran her fingers over Shaw's knuckles, Shaw’s arm tight over her ribs.

“Go to sleep”, Shaw mumbled behind her, Root feeling the breeze of her words over her cheek.

\---

Shaw awoke suddenly, lay still assessing the situation.

Root moved again behind her, arm snug around her ribcage. Root’s body felt warm against her, which meant Root had to have just rolled over as their body temperatures hadn't acclimatized yet. 

Root’s breath hitched when her pinky found bare skin where Shaw's shirt had ridden up in her sleep. It lingered a moment, then Root pulled the shirt lower, rested her hand over the material again.

Root understood consent. She'd push Shaw, but she knew Shaw was allowing it. She knew Shaw enjoyed her flirting, or Shaw would have pushed her away earlier, would have not stayed with her. But she wouldn't touch Shaw's bare skin without permission; not skin normally covered by clothing anyway. Wouldn't continue to touch without consent.

Shaw felt so small and safe in Root’s embrace. Like when she was small, and she'd sneak into her parents bed, not frightened just… looking for her connection, looking for protection against the worries about her schoolmates thinking she was weird. Normally Shaw was the one doing the protecting, and if Root knew she was awake she'd never admit to it, never admit to allowing it, enjoying it. Shaw had seen Root take down dozens of trained operatives at once; she felt safe here. She wondered, briefly, what Reese and Finch thought of these sleeping arrangements, wondered if they knew Root only had the one bed. Wondered if they'd thought Shaw had caved. Given in to Root's flirting. Neither of them acted any different to them, neither of them seemed to bat an eye at Root's obvious flirtations but they also knew Shaw didn't do… this.

This, which she was doing. Spending more than one night with the same person, someone who was affectionate with her, someone who was obviously attracted to her… and she hadn't acted on it yet.

Shaw didn't mind so much if it stayed like this. Work, then home with this comfortable bed, warmed with affection from someone she didn't hate. Felt something other than disdain for. Even the people she slept with didn't get to cuddle her like this; she'd slap them away in her sleep, if she'd let herself fall asleep, leave in the middle of the night.

Shaw thought back to that night in the CIA safehouse, plenty of room but Root always in hers. Coming up behind her, passing her with a hand on her hip when there was plenty of room to walk around. Root had been so wound up after that, she'd had to relieve some pressure when she got home the next night.

But now sharing this space felt safe, and the intimacy felt… normal. There was still a charge in the air, like a storm was waiting to break over them, and once Shaw had a home to go to she’d take care of that, but it wasn’t urgent.

“You're awake,” Root whispered. Shaw had forgotten to slow her breathing. “And obviously not hating this.”

Shaw froze, caught out. Root's hand slid over her stomach, and Shaw rolled over to face her.

“I'm going back to the couch,” Shaw said, matter of fact. “If you say another word.”

Root said nothing, but Shaw could see the glint of her eyes watching her in the darkness, could feel Root's palm tighten around her hip. Shaw knew that by letting Root know she was awake she’d played her hand and lost; Root knew now that Shaw would tolerate her affection.

Shaw was always the man in her relationships. Or... whatever it was she had. One night stands. Some men liked it. They were so... emotional, these days.

But Root... Root treated her like a woman. Root held her. Root made her feel... attractive. She could see what those men had liked about being held.

Root's hand shifted up Shaw's ribcage, rested on her face, tangled in her hair. Shaw rolled away from Root again, shrugged her off gently, ashamed at being caught in the comfort Root had offered. Root slid in behind her again wordlessly, pressed against her back with an arm over her.

\---

Shaw woke up on Root's chest again, cheek resting on a soft breast. She pulled away clutching her cheek.

“We have to stop waking like this.” Root said, watching Shaw curiously.

“I should have a place today. I'll be out of your hair.” Shaw could feel the blood in her cheeks, a flush to her face.

“Oh, I don't mind sweetie, but if you're going to want to access the real estate you should at least do something with it.” Shaw noticed her legs tangled with Root's. Noticed how well rested she felt, more well rested than she'd felt in decades. Since her father died and people started noticing something was wrong with her. She disengaged, rolled away from Root.

“You said something about breakfast?” Shaw asked, rubbing her face.

Root got out of bed, her shirt ridden up over her ribs.

“Of course.”

There was some whispering and Shaw rolled over, smiled into the pillow. She was being made breakfast by a self-trained hacker and killer, assisted by a superintelligent machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you liked it.
> 
> Struggling with my own machine and my own crippledness so this is a nice escape.
> 
> Title from The Tragically Hip's 'Stay'


	3. One more night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw has to help John... and can't get the keys to her new place, darnnit.

One more night

Shaw sat herself at the kitchen table, watched hungrily as Root brought her a plate of pancakes, maple syrup running thickly to the plate. Root brought herself a plate over too, sat it on the table and sat down opposite Shaw. Watched Shaw eat hungrily. Not hungry for breakfast, but hungry for the frank appreciation Shaw had for her cooking, hungry for Shaw’s praise, hungry for the joy of providing sustenance for Shaw.

“They're good,” Shaw said with some surprise. “Really, really good,” she continued, mouth full again.

“Old family recipe,” Root said. Reveling in the moment, that Shaw was letting her take care of her, even momentarily. She took her first bite then, sneaking glances over when Shaw grunted in pleasure.

“Gotta get to work,” Shaw said finally, getting up to rinse her plate. She walked into the lounge, pulling her singlet over her head, pulling a bra out of the duffel, turning slightly as Root choked on one of her pancakes. Smiled to herself, pulled her dress over her head, shucking off her shorts and slipping on her stilettos. She grabbed her purse, reached for her duffel, hesitated. “Mind if I leave this here?” She asked casually. “If I have the keys today I’ll come get it after work.”

“Not a problem,” Root managed, still sucking in air. Shaw smiled, locked the door behind her.

\----

Root went through her day, expecting a phone call, for Shaw to say she needed to stay again, or to say that she'd picked up her things and left the key.

Nothing.

She satisfied herself with knowing that Shaw knew where Root lived, had her own key.

When Root came home, the place felt empty. Shaw's duffel was still on the coffee table, so Root assumed she'd be by sometime.

She peeked inside; guns, as she'd assumed. Pants, a jacket, another black dress, presumably for work.

Underwear; utilitarian, black and incredibly soft.

There were footsteps outside and the sound of a key in the lock. Root dropped the underwear, scuttled into the kitchen, opened the fridge.

“Oh, you're home. I’ve got to help Reese,” Shaw said by way of greeting.

“I know,” Root said cockily. She shut the fridge, eyed Shaw as she pulled her dress off and shrugged on a hoodie, pants. Shaw looked up, rolled her eyes at Root's obvious interest.

“I haven't had a chance to get my keys from Finch yet,” Shaw said nervously. “If we're done early, can I stay again? And if not, can I swing by for my dress?”

“Absolutely. Mi casa su casa.”

“Thanks Root,” Shaw said, tucking guns into her ankle holster and the back of her pants. Knife up the sleeve; looked like a fun night.

“Sure you guys won't need a hand?” Root asked wistfully.

“Nah,” Shaw looked up at Root finally, tucking her feet into her sneakers. She put her stilettos and dress in the duffel. Tidy, efficient. 

“And you won't be by for dinner?” Root asked, a little disappointed. She’d had plans; the way to Shaw’s heart was clearly through her stomach.

“Nah,” Shaw paused. “What were you thinking of having?”

“I make a mean lasagna,” Root said, and Shaw knew that no one could possibly make lasagna sound suggestive, but damn if Root didn't make it sound hot. “I can leave some in the fridge, for when you get in?” Root suggested, and Shaw smiled.

\---

Shaw came in after midnight, and Root looked up from her computer.

“Went well?” Root asked, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, we got them,” Shaw said. “One nearly got me, though. Fast bastard,” Shaw shrugged off her hoodie, holding one arm stiffly against her. Root got to her feet, strode over to Shaw. Bruises already forming on her shoulder and arm; fist fight, not fire. A scrape to her forehead, another on her forearm. Broken skin over the knuckles.

Root took Shaw's hand, led her to the table. Disappeared into the kitchen, came back with a medical pack.

“I’ve got this,” Shaw said, dodging Root's attempt to clean a cut with an antiseptic wipe. “But I've been thinking about your lasagna all night.”

Root took the hint, went to warm the leftovers she'd put aside for Shaw.

“How are you going to explain that at work tomorrow?” Root asked, touching Shaw's forehead.

“Makeup covers a lot of sins,” Shaw said complacently, not shrugging Root away. “Lasagna?” Shaw asked hopefully as the microwave beeped.

“What were you doing up so late, anyway? You weren't… worried about me, were you?’ Shaw asked teasingly as Root placed a plate of lasagna in front of her. Meaty, with crispy cheese.

“No, just working on a hash, some code. Looking through what we've been able to find of Samaritan, trying to find a weak point,” Root said, sounding a little exhausted.

“Oh,” Shaw said, slightly deflated, not knowing Root was pretending she hadn’t been waiting up for her; she'd just found something to fill her time, keep her worried mind away from the danger Shaw might be in. But to have Shaw so visibly disappointed…

“Sorry I didn't call earlier,” Shaw said suddenly. “About the keys. I thought I was going to have time, but then Reese called while I was heading to the subway, it seemed easier to swing by here first.”

Root looked up, surprised. She hadn't expected an apology, even if she had spent half the day wondering about if Shaw was coming over or not. She hadn't expected Shaw to be crushed to find out Root wasn't waiting up for her. She hadn't expected Shaw to willingly share a bed with her, or last night, consciously hold her.

Shaw's behaviour was… not what Root had been expecting at all. She'd expected Shaw to cave and jump her, or leave in frustration at Root's flirting. But Shaw was… a surprisingly good house guest, if frustrating at times. She was clean, appreciative of Root’s cooking, and surprisingly physically affectionate.

“It’s ok,” Root said finally. “I knew you'd be back for your guns.” Root turned back to her computer. Shaw turned to the lasagna in front of her, dug her fork in.

“Damn, that's delicious,” Shaw said approvingly, and Root focused on her screen, blushing a little. “I swear, if you keep feeding me like this, I might…” Shaw drifted off, 'not want to leave’, the end of Shaw's unfinished sentence.

“Might what?” Root asked curiously.

“Might drop by for dinner more often,” Shaw finished lamely. 

\---

Shaw had a shower and went to bed first again, stretching on her way. She had a day job, after all.

Root joined her later, holding herself stiffly away from Shaw, who rolled over, caught Root in the sheets and pulled Root into her arms.

Root was sure Shaw was awake, sure Shaw didn't like cuddling.. but here Root was for the third night in a row, wrapped in Shaw's strong arms. It was confusing to Root, not knowing what she meant to Shaw, knowing she obviously meant something, but not knowing what. She knew Shaw had feelings, really deep down, hidden to everyone, even Shaw. So even asking Shaw wouldn't give Root the answers she wanted. 

Root was tempted to kiss Shaw, an obviously romantic gesture, just to see what would happen. It might be their last night together, it might be her last chance.

But Shaw was a guest in her home, with nowhere else to stay. If Shaw stormed out, Root would worry all night where she'd gone, what she'd done to this… frankly comfortable… friendship.

And Root understood the power imbalance here, that Shaw was kind of trapped with nowhere else to go and might see it as an attempt at coercion. Might feel obligated, feel like it was a condition of Root's hospitality. If it's not an enthusiastic yes, it's a firm no.

So Root pressed her lips to Shaw's collarbone, rested her head on Shaw's considerable chest and closed her eyes.

But as Root was falling asleep, she could swear she could feel Shaw's fingers running through her hair, over her back.

\---

Shaw didn't do feelings, didn't do company, didn't do friends.

But she did like the way Root didn't belittle her for any of that, the way she accepted Shaw for who she was, rather than expecting more from her.

Liked the way Root made her feel welcome without having to participate. Like the way Root made her… feel.

Like she was home, like she was cared for. Like what made her different was a selling point rather than a deterrent. They'd known each other long enough to feel like they knew each other, long enough that sharing a small space like this wasn’t suffocating.

And it was more than that, Shaw liked the way Root looked in her pants - and even more without them - the way she looked holding two guns, one gun, any weapon, a spatula. The way she smiled at Shaw like she liked what she saw, not just physically but deep down, the parts of herself Shaw worried about, she felt like Root saw them and liked them.

For someone without feelings, she was sure feeling a lot.

Root rolled away from Shaw in her sleep, floppy limbs loose with sleep. Shaw hesitated, remembered how easily she'd woken when Root had held her the night before. 

Then she wrapped an arm over Root anyway. Root sighed contentedly, and Shaw smiled. She wasn't sure what was happening here, had expected a couple of nights of hot, vigorous sex. But this was… comfortable.

\---

Shaw woke up alone, well rested. She stretched, feeling the cuts on her knuckles tug open as she did. A few days, they'd heal. She could hear Root in the kitchen, could smell something good. She got up, padded into the kitchen with her hair loose, feet bare.

Root was at the stove, humming as she flipped the toast in the pan. She turned when she heard Shaw, smiled at her.

“I'll get the keys today,” Shaw said hesitantly. “Thanks for letting me stay. I'll come by for my things after work.”

“Come by any time. You’re always welcome here,” Root said seriously, focusing on the pan, the bread.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“Juice in the fridge?” Shaw got two glasses from the cupboard over the sink, poured the juice, took the glasses to the table and sat down, watching Root cook, watching Root's butt in the tight pants she’d worn to bed the night before. Root didn’t notice, too focused on the frying pan. Finally she turned the stove off, brought a plate over, stacked high with toast. Shaw took a slice, and Root watched her intensely. Shaw put it back down, sighed.

“I didn't mean… I don't want you to think…” Shaw started, and Root's heart sank, waiting for Shaw to tell her that the cuddling meant nothing, that she was just cold or some other brush off.

“If I'd wanted… if I hadn't wanted… I wouldn't have gotten into bed with you. And if I had, and I didn't, I wouldn't have slept close to you. I don't do sleepovers, Root. I barely do one night stands. I could have got the keys last night. I had time to see Finch first. I have… enjoyed the time I've spent here with you. The food. The hot water in your shower. I've never slept so well. Never had… somewhere this safe. So. Thanks, I guess. I didn't want you to think I was ungrateful, when I didn't call yesterday. This is just…”

“Outside your scope?” Root asked, and Shaw nodded thankfully.

“Well, you're welcome here anytime. I'll be making chicken pot pie on Friday if you're in the area.”

Shaw stuffed french toast into her mouth and smiled through it. 

“I'll make sure I am.” And Root looked at her, really looked and saw a lost little girl, unsure of her place in the world, a starving animal, a stray that had been too long away from human contact that would…

Root leaned over, picked up another slice of toast, held it toward Shaw’s mouth, watched as Shaw pulled it from her hand with her teeth.

A wild animal that trusted her. That would eat from her hand, like a stray dog that mistrusted humans; terrifying to all but those who could read their body language and see that they were just protecting themselves from perceived threats.

“I'll pick up my stuff once I get the keys after work,” Shaw said, not quite asking.

“I'll expect you for dinner,” Root said.

“I'd like that,” Shaw said honestly. She stood, hunger sated, and dressed again, this time not turning so far away, hearing Root choke on the toast as she shrugged her singlet off.

Root stood, and Shaw pulled her dress on quickly. Root stopped in front of her, and Shaw put a hand on her shoulder to stop her getting closer, unsure of her intentions. Her hand, of its own volition, raised to cup Root’s cheek.

Shaw ran her hand down Root’s face, down to her throat, felt Root’s pulse quicken under her fingers.

“You're not scared of me, are you?” Shaw asked, uncertain. She liked people to be afraid of her, but somehow it made her disappointed in herself that Root might be.

“No, sweetie,” Root said honestly.

“Then why is your heart beating faster?” Shaw challenged. Root didn’t answer; not in words, but the way she looked at Shaw was straightforward enough to even be read by a sociopath. Shaw noted her thumb was resting on Root’s lips, and when she traced Root’s lower lip, Root opened her mouth a little, and Shaw pulled away with a jolt at the sensation of Root’s warm tongue against her thumb. She looked up at Root, looked away with something that looked suspiciously like a blush.

“See you tonight.” Shaw said abruptly, and the door slammed behind her. Root ran a finger over her own lips and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really rough couple of months; constantly dislocating joints, as well as a rough time at work; too much relies on me, and I have no one to hand off to so I can take leave.  
> This is my safe place. This is the only thing getting me through most of my days; come home, see my bird, watch a few episodes and write if I can.  
> Please review if you liked it; more is coming anyway, but I like to hear from people as into this ship as me.


	4. Four alarm jalepenos in a one-bedroom apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw have dinner. Alone. In Root's apartment. What could go wrong?

Shaw knocked this time, Root noted. Didn’t act like she lived here anymore; it wasn't as if she had lived here, not really, but she’d been comfortable here, Root was sure. Root wiped her hands on a teatowel, suddenly unreasonably nervous. Root hadn't even been this nervous when she'd led Shaw here the first time, sure Shaw was finally going to reciprocate her advances. Not that this had been disappointing, it just wasn't what she'd imagined she and Shaw would get up to in a one bedroom apartment. Root hadn't wanted to push; Shaw had clearly stayed here of her own free will, but Shaw had been nothing if not hostile to Root's flirtations all along the way.

Shaw waited outside the apartment, wondering why she hadn't used the key. She'd been invited to dinner, not to stay, maybe that was the difference. And Root's track record with food was worth some common courtesy. She shouldn't have dragged it out like this though, she should have got her stuff last night and left. But Shaw was still confused. She felt like she'd called Root's bluff, that Root's flirting was all just a game to her to make Shaw uncomfortable, but the way Shaw had wanted to hold Root the night before was so foreign. If it had all been a game to Root, the way she flirted in front of the boys, then backed down when Shaw was alone and in front of her… but that didn't fit with the way Root had looked at Shaw before she'd left this morning. It didn't fit. None of it made sense, and Shaw was glad to have an address and some keys and a space of her own so she could forget about Root for a while. 

The knock came again, and Root could almost swear it sounded… subdued. Root opened the door, and Shaw looked up at her seriously. Root smiled nervously, and the smile she received in return steadied her own.

Chicken stir fry, with jalapenos on the side.

Shaw eyed Root carefully, chewing a cashew. They both knew time was running out, that this… Shaw didn't want to think of this time, this place as a haven, but it had been. That they were running out of excuses to touch each other, in daylight.

“This is great. You coulda been a chef,” Shaw said, breaking what would have been an awkward silence for any other two people.

“I like my life how it is, but thank you,” Root said quietly.

“Don't you ever get tired of it? The endless aliases, the constant chase? Never knowing why you’re doing something until after you’ve done it?”

“It's no different to my life before,” Root shrugged. “Except now I have… people. To work with. And a cause, a purpose. And I like the spontaneity. I like trying to figure out the big picture.”

Shaw nodded slowly, still chewing. Shaw missed her ISA days, but not the betrayals that had come with that. Root didn't lie to her. Finch and John were honest too. There were things she missed from before, shooting to kill being among them, but… Shaw had never understood why people formed groups, and now that the pay was gone she needed the machine to obscure her identity… she was in too deep, but her identity would at least get her on a plane and she could start somewhere new. She'd considered it a number of times, but hadn't made plans. Because what Root said rang true. She had a cause, a purpose here.

They both did.

“Seems a waste, though,” Shaw said through her mouthful. Root reached over the table, covered Shaw's hand with her own.

“The way you appreciate it, it's not a waste. It's better than 5 Michelin stars.” Root was sincere and subdued. Shaw didn’t shrug her off, but Root took her hand back, dug listlessly at her own meal.

“I mean, it's a shame. All those people who don't get to enjoy this.” Shaw speared a jalepeno slice, savoured it.

“It's just for you,” Root said seriously, and Shaw didn't understand until she was unpacking her duffel in her new place, same as the old one; mattress on the floor and a fridge. Twizzlers and Nutella for Root. Home cooked meals for Shaw. 

\---

Shaw washed the dishes, put them away carefully.

“Thanks for the accommodation,” she said stiffly. She moved to the couch, grabbed her duffel. “Well, I gotta go,” she said, finally. Root handed her a bag of leftovers, almost let her leave. She let Shaw turn away from her before she faltered.

“Sameen,” Root said quietly, and Shaw half-turned to Root, eyes averted.

“Don't,” she whispered. “Don't ruin it.”

There was no power imbalance now. Shaw had her own place.

Root stepped forward and Shaw looked up at her, but Root simply wrapped her arms around Shaw.

It was different, being held by Root while they were standing up. There were less… body parts involved, but more arms. Shaw dropped the duffel, the leftovers, put her hands on Root's ribs. Held her for a moment before she gently pushed Root towards the couch, steadied her on the back of it by her hips, considered Root a moment with her hands on Root’s thighs, which parted as Shaw stepped between them. Root was breathless, curious as to what Shaw was up to, almost the same height now.

Then Shaw stepped forward, pressed her mouth against Root's, who didn't respond for a moment. Then Root opened her mouth, inexperienced, Shaw could tell immediately, but not disappointing. 

She pushed forward, caught Root when she started to fall backwards, felt Root's hands finally reach around her to rest on her back, pull Shaw in closer to her. Her mouth was incredibly soft against Shaw's, but Shaw felt like she was taking something that hadn't been offered to her, hadn't realised the extent of Root's social isolation until she knew for sure that she wasn’t familiar even with kissing. Sure, she was gamely going for it, and it wasn't the worst Shaw had had by far, but it threw her, that Root was… however old… and didn't… hadn't… she was willing enough to with Shaw right now, Shaw reasoned for a moment, then pulled away.

“I have to go,” Shaw said carefully, hands moving up from Root's butt where she'd caught her, awkwardly hugging Root. She pulled back, looked at Root, kissed her again swiftly, let go, stepped away slowly. Picked up the things she'd dropped quickly, knowing that if Root asked her to stay she'd cave in a moment. But Root said nothing, watching Shaw carefully, fingers raised to her lips. Shaw struggled with the door, both hands full, so Root walked over, opened the door.

“Thanks,” Shaw whispered, and slipped out past her.

 

\---

In the subway Finch asked an innocent question.

“How'd you like the new place?” Finch asked, looking sideways at Reese. Not very subtle because of his condition, and Shaw rolled her eyes.

“It's fine,” Shaw said quickly. “Where’s the target?”

“Not too Spartan?” Finch asked, his question leading… somewhere, Shaw assumed.

“It's fine.” Shaw repeated 

“So you've been there?” John asked sardonically.

“What?” Shaw snapped.

“Well, we thought you might... want to stay on with Miss Groves,” Finch said, flustered, and Shaw turned her steely gaze on him. “Given the money flow problems we are having, and the pay from your job… it would make sense financially,” he continued, finishing with more conviction than he'd started with.

“It's a one bedroom apartment,” Shaw said warningly.

“Floor's fine,” Reese countered.

“Yeah but her couch isn't,” Shaw snarked. Reese shrugged, slid the clip into his gun. 

“We doing this?” He asked, and Shaw loaded her pistol, tucked it in her pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got my cardiology results and I'm cleared to fly - booked my tickets four days ago and I fly out to Canada in 10 days. So I'm not prepared at all. Got someone to look after my bird but not my system yet.  
> So, there's an episode in season 3 where John shows up at Shaw's hotel room and she'd barefoot with her hair down and short shorts and tight singlet, and I think that's just ruined me.  
> Please review if you liked, there is more coming but the schedule might be off.  
> I know I'm late to this fandom, and I would have loved to have been here sooner - but better late than never.


	6. Shoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw gets shot, needs some help. Needs somewhere to go.

A few weeks later, Root woke up to a key in the door. She pulled out her pillow gun and aimed it at eye-height.

Even in the dim light she recognised Shaw.

“You nearly got yourself shot,” Root teased as she turned on her bedside lamp.

“Yeah, well, wouldn't be the first time tonight,” Shaw said, closing the door with difficulty behind her. “Give me a hand with my coat, would you?”

Root got up, padded over in her fuzzy slippers.

“You really should’ve called first. How do you know I don't have company?” Shaw shot Root a look, and Root helped pull off Shaw's jacket carefully, noting the bullet holes, the smell of blood on Shaw. Root unzipped Shaw's hoodie next, slid it off over her shoulders, hissed when she saw the gunshot wound. Shaw turned her head then, followed Root’s gaze and shrugged. Root’s hands went to the bottom of Shaw’s shirt, but Shaw stopped her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to lift her arm over her head.

“Gonna have to cut the shirt off,” Shaw said. “Got some Betadine and some vodka?” Root nodded, fetched her medical kit, pulled vodka from the freezer.

Root watched as Shaw started cutting through her shirt, then covered Shaw’s hands, took the scissors, cut away at the fabric over her shoulder.

“The whole thing, please. I won’t be able to take it off,” Shaw asked, when Root pulled away. Root obliged, feeling Shaw’s stomach tense beneath her fingers, feeling the lines of Shaw’s bra. She should have gone from the back, she thought, blushing as she carefully watched her hands instead of Shaw’s face. Root stepped back, dropped the scissors on the table behind her and pulled the shirt away from Shaw’s torso, hypnotised by the skin she was uncovering. She stepped away again and watched as Shaw sat at the table, sterilised the clamps in her medical kit, watched as she extracted a bullet from the soft flesh of her shoulder, watched her douse the open wound in Betadine, then throw back a shot of vodka without a single flinch. Shaw looked over at Root, awkwardly hovering, wanting to offer assistance but unsure how. Shaw looked at her shoulder, gave in. She could stitch it herself, but she'd come here for a reason.

“Any good at sewing? Angle’s awkward with one hand.”

“I can try,” Root offered, and took the threaded needle Shaw offered her. Shaw took another swig, and pointed where she needed the first stitch, pretending not to notice the shake in Root's hands. Shaw sat still, offering advice when Root asked for it. She eyed the stitches when Root tied off the end, nodded at the neatness.

“I’m starving. Got anything to eat?” she eyed Root, wondering if she should have knocked as Root was in her underwear and a singlet. Obviously the shorts had been a courtesy for Shaw when she’d stayed here what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Let me have a look,” Root said, knowing the fridge was empty again. Shaw watched her hungrily. Frozen chuck from the lasagna in the freezer, some pasta in the cupboard. The milk was off; Root should have binned it days ago.

Root used to enjoy cooking, but with how often she had to move groceries felt like a waste, and with just herself to take care of she'd lapsed back into bachelor chow again since Shaw had left.

“I can cook something up. Be 15 or so minutes, if you want to clean up.”

“Thanks,' Shaw said, a note of exhaustion creeping in as she rifled through Root's drawers for the clothes she'd slept in that first night a lifetime ago. She put the singlet back, opting for a flannel shirt she could probably button. Something that she wouldn’t need to pull over her head.

The towel she'd been using when she'd stayed before was where she'd left it on the rack. It almost bothered her how familiar she felt in Root's place, in Root's space. Almost, like this was too good, like it was going to go bad soon and Shaw would just watch it happen, helpless and confused against a tide of anger at things she was and could never be. Root didn’t seem the sort of person to resent Shaw for not living up to Root’s expectations but that kiss the other night… Shaw knew she shouldn't have but Root was so soft and willing in her arms… it had felt like the right way to thank her. But now it was even more complicated, and Shaw didn’t know if she had ruined the comfortable friendship they’d had, if Root resented her for leaving, if Root was expecting more. She could have gone home, taken care of the wound herself, but it was a good excuse to come…  
…  
home.

\---  
\---

The room was cooler than she remembered, and she realised Root mustn't be using the heating just for herself, that she'd turned it on when Shaw stayed because she had company. Root's life didn't look spartan, but Shaw knew where to look and saw Root denying herself little conveniences - conveniences the machine paid for. Because why? Did Root not think she was worth keeping warm? 

To Shaw’s disappointment Root had put shorts on while Shaw was in the shower. Shaw sat at the table and Root put a plate in front of her, a mass of noodles and beef. The bottle of tabasco Shaw had left was placed beside it.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, through a mouthful of food. “I would have called first but I didn't realise I was on my way here till I was here.” Shaw swallowed. “I mean, I was closer to here than home.”

“I don't mind,’ Root said quietly. She knew that at some time, maybe even a week ago, Shaw would have gone home alone, stitched it herself, fed herself. It was like… when horse whisperers worked, they quietly reinforced that the wild animals were safe with them. She kind of felt like one of those people who fed hummingbirds, feeding something small and fragile that felt safe enough to rest in her hands. 

“This is good, you not having any?”

“There's more in the kitchen if you're still hungry,” Root answered.

“Oh, I meant… have you had dinner?”

“Not really,” Root sighed, missing Shaw’s concern

“Then… join me? You need to eat too.” Shaw said bluntly, and Root nodded wordlessly, dished herself out a small bowl, sat next to Shaw at the table, dug listlessly at the food.

“Why did you come here?” Root asked finally, watching Shaw hungrily devour the makeshift meal.

“Like I said, I was closer to here than my place. Plus shoulders are a bitch to stitch. Plus,” Shaw gestured to the bowl, “I like your food.”

“Are you staying? You're dressed like you're staying.”

“Is that ok?” Shaw asked, uncertainty creeping into her tone. She hadn't expected Root to not want her here, hadn't expected the comment about Root maybe having someone over.

“Of course,” Root said placidly. “You're always welcome here. Wherever I am. With me.”  
Root sounded tired, and Shaw had second thoughts for the first time. She'd come here on instinct, expecting… a worried but affectionate Root, not this tired and slightly sad one.

“I can go home?”

“No. Stay, please.” Root shook her head, tried to smile. “I’m just still half asleep. I'd only just gone to bed.”

“It's 3am,” Shaw pointed out.

“I know. But there's so much work to be done.”

Shaw looked over, dropped her fork into the bowl. Her hand hesitated near Root's, then picked up her fork again.

“The machine doesn't want you burnt out,” Shaw said with some concern. “She needs you at your best.”

“I know.” Root yawned, picked up her empty bowl and took it to the kitchen. “You want more?” Root asked. 

Shaw looked down, appetite gone a little. She'd thought she'd seen Root's life when she'd stayed here, but it was sadder, lonelier than she'd thought. The machine really was her only friend, the rest of her hours spent alone. No wonder Root had been so keen to meet the machine, so keen to interlope into Finch's team.

Shaw liked being alone, but she knew other people didn't. She thought Root might appreciate her company, but it just seemed to be making her feel more isolated tonight.

“No, thanks,” she called eventually. “Go back to bed, I'll wash up.”

“Thanks,” Root called from the kitchen, and Shaw watched Root walk over to the bed, tuck herself under the familiar covers. 

Shaw tidied away the medical supplies, dabbed at her hoodie and coat with hydrogen peroxide, used a sewing kit she found to stitch the holes in the sleeves. Washed the dishes as quietly as she could, put them away from memory in the light from the range.

Shaw looked over at the bed, uncertain, then pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, rolled herself up in it on the couch.

“What are you doing?” Root asked, sitting up.

“I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to… you didn't offer, I didn't ask.”

“Get in here, sweetie.” Root’s voice had finally softened, was finally affectionate.

Gratefully Shaw joined Root in the bed, luxuriating in the comfortable mattress, the warmth of Root’s body after the coolness of the room. Root turned to face her.

“I worry, when you get shot,” Root said by means of explanation in regards to her subdued behaviour. She rested her hand on Shaw's shoulder, could feel how swollen the muscles were. “I don't like to think about losing you.”

“I’m fine, Root. Barely a flesh wound.”

“But you came here to take care of it.”

“Your place was closer,” Shaw shrugged. Root’s hand had moved down to Shaw’s rib cage, finding comfort in the steady rise and fall of Shaw’s chest.

“But you came here. And now I worry. One of these days you won’t get lucky. One of these days they won’t miss and we need you in this fight. I need you to be more careful.” Normally Shaw would have rolled her eyes, but she was more of a team player now that the team needed each other to survive. She nodded.

“I’m careful,” she said assured Root, noting the pattern Root’s thumb was making along one of her ribs. She wanted to change the subject, remembering how cold it had been when she’d come in. “But Root, we need you in this fight too. You can't live like this. You can't live for the machine alone. You need something left over for you too.” Root’s hand withdrew, tucked itself under Root’s cheek.

“You know who I was, before. This is all… she rehabilitated me. Without her, I'm nothing.” 

“Without her, you're still Root. And I think that's worthwhile. You're not the demon you think you are.”

“I’ve killed people.” Root said quietly. “A lot of people.”

“So have I.” Shaw said, wondering if Root would be coming to a point soon.

“You had orders,” Root pointed out.

“You got paid. We’ve killed people. We still kill people. Less people now… but bad guys. We kill the right people, Root.”

“I wish I was more like you. Able to shut it out.. but you still fight with us.”

“I understand the value of the work I do here. It sits better with me than being used by the government, being kept in the dark. You're honest about the machine when you can be. I like that. I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me. I like that too.”

“Are you trying to tell me you like me?” Root asked coyly. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“I’m in your apartment, of course I like you,” Shaw said bluntly, ignoring the innuendo. “The machine wants to take care of you, but you won't take care of yourself.”

“I do,” Root weakly protested.

“You don't. Yeah, you feed and wash yourself, but you're awake all night fighting or researching or implementing. You don't take time for yourself. There must be times she tells you to sleep, to shut down.”

“There are,” Root admitted.

“And do you listen?”

“No. This fight is too important. I'm just a cog.”

“You're more than a cog to her. I'm a cog. You're a friend to her, if computers have friends. Or, like, her cool aunt. She can't talk to Finch the way she does to you; she needs you, and she needs you to take care of yourself.”

“I’m not very good at it,” Root protested.

“You took care of me. When I stayed there was hot homemade meals. What did you eat today?”

“An apple, some juice.”

“You like apples,” Shaw said slowly, thinking back to a time Root had eaten an apple while Shaw had fought a CIA agent. “It's not enough. You can take care of me, but not yourself? You didn't even turn the heating on until I got here.”

“You're worried about me,” Root finally said in wonder. “Honest to goodness worried, Well, I’ll be.”

“Don’t read too much into that,” Shaw warned. “Or… what I did when I came for dinner the other night. It can’t go anywhere.” Root found Shaw’s hand, held it in her own.

“I'm the one who's been keeping her hands to herself.” Root reminded Shaw. “You’re the one coming to my bed, sleeping on top of me.”

“You offered,” Shaw countered

“I offered my bed,” Root pointed out.

“You’ve been offering yourself since we met,” Shaw replied.

Root paused. That was true; she didn’t really have the high ground she was claiming here.

“Why did you stay here, when your place caught fire?” Root asked finally. “You could have got a hotel, stayed with Harold or John. Why here?”

“I like being alone. There's less... noise... less trying to understand people’s emotions. But I don't like being lonely.”

“You have Bear for that.”

“And you.” Shaw looked at Root, her face expressive, trying to convey something she couldn't with words. “You get it. You get me. You get… why people are hard and guns - or machines in your case - are easy. You push your own agenda, sure. But you get it. You get me. Been a long time since someone did that.”

“I know you have a medical condition. I know it's not a childhood trauma thing, I know I can't convince you to care for me. I know there's no cure, I know you won’t wake up one day and suddenly be an openly affectionate person. We both know you can't care for me. And I don't mind. I think you mind more than I do. But I'd like it if you could let me care for you. Because right now, I’m having trouble taking care of myself, and having you here is good motivation.”

Shaw turned her hand in Root’s then, startling Root. She looked at Root’s face on the pillow, so close to hers.

“Everyone I've been with, they all wanted to change me. They all expected more from me than I could give them. They thought I needed fixing, and got frustrated when I couldn’t change,” Shaw said quietly.

“They were idiots. They can't improve on perfection,” Root stated, like it was a known fact that she thought Shaw was perfect the way she was.

Shaw leaned forward slowly, seeing the smile on Root's face disappear. She pressed her mouth to Root's, wrapped an arm over Root’s back, cupped the back of her neck and kissed her.

When Shaw kissed, it was aggressive, passionate. It was always a precursor to vigorous sex, but this kiss… Shaw had never kissed anyone like this. She pulled away, mouth still closed. Looked at Root, whose eyes had fluttered closed. 

“You deserve someone who can... care for you. Love you.”

“You don't know what I've done. What I deserve,” Root said bitterly.

“I know who you are now, and I know you deserve better.”

Root laughed. “I’ll never find anyone better, don’t you get that? I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anyone, but you’re what I want.”

“So you're what? Just making do? Finding someone who can't love you to make up for your past?”

“No. I don't deserve you, but I want you. I can’t ‘deserve better’ because there’s no one better. The Machine would have told me if there was, and she hasn’t. She likes you, by the way. And you're wrong. You do, in your way. You do care about me, just a little, but for you it’s a lot,” Root pointed out.

“It's an illusion. A delusion. Something you're telling yourself. I'm not capable…” Shaw explained, having had this conversation before.

“You are, though. The way you touch Bear, the way you touch your gun... That's the way you touch me. I pay attention. I notice... everything, and what I don't notice The Machine does. You touch John and Harry like they're tables. You touch me like something that matters. You help me on my suicide missions. You check in with Harry to see if I’ve survived the night if you haven’t heard from me. You care, and for anyone else it would be the tiniest thing, but for you… it’s so much.”

“I suppose you might think... you're just fragile, alright. All those thin little limbs, no padding, so easy to break. And you’re not trained properly. If The Machine doesn’t warn you, you don’t know basic recon, and you don’t have her in your ear all the time now. It’d be easy for someone to get the jump on you. We’re a team. We need all of us to fight Samaritan, just to survive.”

“You don’t do the same for John,” Root pointed out.

“Reese can take care of himself,” Shaw said, frustrated.

“And you think, what I’m some helpless damsel?”

“No, I know you don’t have our training and I…” Shaw cut herself off before she said ‘worry about you’.

“You've punched me in the face, but you gently led me hooded through darkness for the CIA drop. Your hands were soft where you held me to guide me. You held my head so I wouldn't bump it on the van doorway - The Machine had told me to duck but I didn't. I wanted to know what you'd do, and you showed your hand. You've been showing it ever since. You play off being flustered as being annoyed. But if you really hated the way I speak to you, the way I hit on you, you would have made me stop a very long time ago.  
“So when you say you can't love me, I can't believe you. I don't love, either. Well, the Machine, computers. Things without emotions, things running on code. In binary. And you're... You're that black and white.  
“I can read you like a text- based game. Pick up your attempt at lies like one mistake in a 800 line perl. You're the closest I'll get to a machine. But you're…” Root raised her hand to Shaw’s face, brushed her hair away from her face “more beautiful than even the most organised server farm, the most elegant cluster, the most meticulously designed OS…” Root slipped her hand from where it had been cupping Shaw's cheek. Let it drop to Shaw's chest, where it rested over her heart. A heart that was pounding at Root's proximity.  
“I don't like people. I don't understand their code. They're too... easy. They're easy to read, and hard to give a damn about. I never minded being alone until I met you. I never... enjoyed anyone's company as I have enjoyed yours. You’re good code, Sameen.”

If Root didn’t know any better, she’d think she’d seen a tear slip down Shaw’s face. Shaw kissed her again, and again, and the way Shaw touched her, Root knew that her study of Shaw had been accurate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fly out in a few days, not sure where I'm going or what I'm doing yet but YAY CANADA.
> 
> It's really awkward typing 'Root' as a noun instead of an admin login 'root' as I need to do Linux stuff for work so I just type root every time instead.
> 
> Review if you liked it - more to come, not sure when because 25 hours on a plane is the longest I'll have been without internet in two years. Should have wifi and cell service most of the time, but will be traipsing around on my stupid unstable joints and not staring at a computer.

**Author's Note:**

> Really enjoying the show, although there are some technical inconsistencies. It's nice to know other people care about their electronic systems.  
> It makes me feel a bit better about the time we were facing a government disaster and my manager overheard me say 'please come up baby' to my system.  
> It did fix the problem. Well, what I'd done before I said that did, but it looked like magic to him.  
> More chapters coming. I think.   
> I have a real thing for these guys being trapped in a single-bed apartment and Shaw being frustrated by how much she doesn't hate it.


End file.
